Journey Back to Christmas. Leigh Duncan

Чтение книги онлайн.

      By the time she reached her car, fat snowflakes covered the sidewalk in a fresh blanket of white. She sniffled, just a little, as she brushed the icy mix from the windshield of the 1943 Hudson. Chet had driven the car straight from the showroom to their house the week before he’d shipped out. He’d always taken such good care of her. She’d so looked forward to doing the same for him and spending the rest of her life making a home for him. With Chet’s degree in Civil Engineering, he’d go to work building houses or schools after the war ended. There’d be babies, of course. Once they came along, she’d quit her job at the hospital. Instead, she’d spend her days keeping house, raising their children, and helping out in the community. They’d have a good life, one filled with baseball games and dance recitals, PTA meetings and the Women’s League, dinners with important clients and family vacations. Or, at least, that was the future they’d dreamed of. Without Chet, none of those plans meant anything anymore, so, with a sigh, she slipped behind the wheel.

      A few minutes later, she slowed as she passed the gazebo where, despite the impending storm, a crowd gathered. Beneath the pitched roof, Charlie pulled several ornaments from one of the boxes. The colorful balls no sooner dangled from his fingers than two girls about his age rushed to his side. Hanna smiled to herself. No wonder the young man had been in such a hurry to get to the gazebo.

      Drawing in a steadying breath, she pressed lightly on the gas. She hoped Dottie and their friends would understand if she didn’t show up at the lighting ceremony tonight. For now, she just wanted to go home and be alone with her memories.

      A short time later, she steered the car onto the driveway that ran beside a tidy little house on a tree-lined street. Already, snow blanketed the sidewalks and walkways. It piled up along the curbs. She stomped the wintery mix from her shoes on the mat by the front door. Stepping into the house, she let down her guard as she hung her coat and hat on the coat tree by the door. Within these walls, she didn’t need to keep a stiff upper lip or pretend that she was over the pain of losing Chet. Here, in the home they’d barely begun to furnish before he’d left, she could be herself.

      She fixed herself a cup of tea and settled into the chair by the window. On the other side of the panes, the snow fell thicker. It muffled the sounds of the occasional car on her street. A deep and mournful howl came from somewhere nearby. She brushed the dampness from her cheeks and peered through the glass, but the only movement came from the steam that rose in thin tendrils from her cup on the end table. She took a sip. Over the rim of the china, she eyed the decorations she’d put out in hopes of creating a festive air in the house that was too big, too quiet, for one person. She’d bought the smallest Christmas tree they’d had on the lot this year. It stood, slightly canted to one side, in the corner. Money had been tight, and she hadn’t had any to spare for lights, but she’d strung a garland of cranberries and popcorn across the tree’s branches. She’d even spent an entire evening cutting strips of newspaper and pasting the links together in a long chain that she’d draped from the green limbs. Though she wished there were more gifts under the tree, she’d lovingly wrapped each one and tied them off with bright red bows. She smiled, thinking how Toby’s face would light up when he opened his on Christmas morning. Would he like the books she’d chosen for him?

      After fortifying herself with another sip of tea, she pulled a leather-bound album onto her lap. Paging through it, she lingered over favorite pictures where Chet’s face smiled up at her. She couldn’t help but smile in return as she recalled the happy moments of their time together. She traced one finger over a picture of Chet as a boy. He leaned against a fencepost, grinning, his hands in the pockets of his overalls as if he hadn’t just tugged on her pigtails and ran away before she could catch him. She turned the page and studied a more recent photo. She’d snapped this one at the train station when Chet had gotten a three-day pass just before he’d shipped out. He’d looked so handsome stepping from the train, all dark good looks and swagger, in his uniform. His confidence that they’d win the war had been infectious, and she’d been caught up in his certainty that he’d come home to her. But it hadn’t turned out that way, and, long before she wanted to, she reached the last page in the album.

      Outside, a dog barked. This time, a frantic pawing at her front door accompanied a fearful whining.

      “Oh, my goodness.” She closed the photo album and set it aside.

      The moment she opened the door, a golden retriever burst into the room. Little more than a puppy, the dog gave a happy sound and shook, spattering the bare hardwood with clumps of ice and snow.

      “Oh! Poor baby. Are you cold?” A laugh bubbled in her throat, and she stopped herself. Of course the dog was cold. With the snow coming down by the bucketful, he was lucky he hadn’t frozen to death. Who knew how long he’d been stuck out there? She rushed down the hall, grabbed a towel and a blanket from the closet, and raced back to his side.

      “This’ll get you warmed up.” She treated the dog to a vigorous rubdown. As she worked, golden strands of thick fur sifted through her fingers. When she heard a metallic clink from the collar around his neck, she breathed a sigh of relief. The pretty puppy wasn’t a СКАЧАТЬ